


Announcements & Bets

by DevilRising



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bets, Bisexual Harry Potter, Claustrophobia, Gay Draco Malfoy, Getting Together, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Kissing, M/M, Oblivious Harry, POV: Harry Potter, Room of Requirement, minor PTSD, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23748592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilRising/pseuds/DevilRising
Summary: Harry’s life in his Eighth Year is bullshit, in his opinion. He doesn’t want to waste his life away at Hogwarts any longer than necessary. But does Malfoy have anything to do with that?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 141





	Announcements & Bets

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been working on this on and off for two months. Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: These characters and their world are the property of JK Rowling, and I am not making a profit from this fanwork. This is for entertainment purposes only.

Harry personally thinks Eighth Year is a pain in the arse. He hates the expectations from the younger students, he hates the amount of homework he has, he hates that he can’t play Quidditch for the Gryffindor team just because he is eighteen, he hates that his NEWTs are right around the corner. And above all of that, he hates Draco fucking Malfoy. Yet somehow, he always seems to be around the arrogant prat. At least Harry has someone other than himself to blame for that. The professors seem hell bent on making Malfoy and him work together in every form. The first time they were paired up in Potions, Harry thought it would be the end of him. With Malfoy’s stupid smirks, his effortless grades, and his abundant sarcasm and nit-picking, Harry would have preferred to throw himself off the Astronomy Tower than face him for the couple of hours that Wednesday morning. Okay. Maybe not anything _quite_ so dramatic, but definitely not much of a step down than that he’s sure. 

It doesn’t help when they share a common room either. The Eighth Years all have a massive new wing of Hogwarts that was built along with the restorations, allowing them to all have a dorm room to themselves. Hermione and Ron basically share one room, as do most of the couples, but Harry is very happy to be by himself at night. Sure, sharing a room with Ginny would have been nice back when they were still together, but that wouldn’t have happened anyway with her only being a Seventh Year. Now that they’ve broken up though, Harry is alone in his room. He is glad that Ginny and him have managed to stay friends though. 

“Harry!” Harry looks up from his position on the comfy couch and glances over at Hermione, whose head is currently _not_ stuck in a book. That’s a rather unusual sight right now, really. “Honestly, did you even hear anything I said?” Hermione is asking him.

“What? Sorry, no I didn’t,” Harry says, pulling a face. 

Hermione shakes her head and, presumably, starts again. “I was _saying,_ isn’t it your turn to patrol tonight?”

Harry feels his face drain rapidly. Shit. He’d totally forgotten. “What’s the time?” He asks so quickly he’s sure the words were at least slightly jumbled up.

“Five to ten,” Hermione replies. “You’d better get going if you want to make it all the way down to the Great Hall.” Harry thanks her and flees from the common room. He shouts a goodbye to Ron who's caught up playing wizards’ chess with Terry Boot across the room, before sprinting down the many flights of stairs. 

Managing to arrive at the Great Hall only three minutes late, he bangs the doors open and races to the front of the room. Filch is looking at him with a peculiar glint in his eye that has Harry instantly paranoid. Why is he so happy?

“Mr. Potter,” Filch drawls, arms securely around Mrs. Norris. “I’m glad you could be on time tonight,” he smirks. 

“Sorry Filch, I was-”

“That’s _Caretaker_ Filch to you!”

“Right, of course,” Harry stammers. “Sorry, Caretaker Filch, I was-”

“That’s enough arguing there, Mr. Potter!” Filch cries out. Harry feels anger cool in his gut at the unfairness, but then remembers that he doesn’t really have an excuse and feels the anger reside slightly. “I trust that you know what you are doing, yes?”

“Of course, Caretaker Filch,” Harry nods. “Just one thing,” he says cautiously. “Where’s my partner?”

“Mr. Malfoy was here early and has already started his rounds.” There’s no way Harry heard correctly. Malfoy?! “I suggest you catch up to him somehow.” With that final comment, Filch turns away and walks dramatically out of the Great Hall. 

Harry wants to curse Filch to a million shreds for putting him with _Malfoy_ of all people. But really, that isn’t fair. It was no doubt McGonagall who had paired them up. The Headmistress was the one who even came up with the idea of Eighth Year patrols, and she has been pushing for Interhouse Cooperation quite avidly… Yep, definitely McGonagall to blame here. Sighing deeply Harry storms out of the Great Hall, making sure to slam the door as loudly as possible on the way out. With some of his anger relieved in the delightful noise, he calms down enough to start working out where Malfoy could be. He would no doubt start near the Greenhouses, the methodical bugger, then he would work his way up. But when had he started? That would change his current position quite a lot. Filch said Malfoy arrived early, not surprising considering how he hates tardiness, but how early was _early._

Ultimately deciding that he couldn’t spend all night looking for the blond, Harry raced back up through the castle and into the common room. Hermione shouts something at him that he doesn’t hear in his haste to get to his dorm room, but he guesses that it’s probably a question about what on earth he’s doing. Regardless, when he arrives in his room he digs through his trunk until he finds an aged piece of blank parchment. Grinning at the Marauders' Map, he pulls out his wand and chants, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” Instantly, the parchment unfolds itself and starts filling with a map of the castle. Harry runs his eyes over it, immediately finding Malfoy’s name scribbled near the Muggle Studies classrooms on the First Floor. Looks like Harry’s suspicion of working up is correct. Sprinting back out of the common room and ignoring Hermione’s second shouted question, Harry runs all the way down to the First Floor. 

By the time he reaches the Muggle Studies rooms, Malfoy is nowhere in sight. Cursing loudly, he pulls the map back out and finds his dot standing in front of the Hospital Wing. There are also two other dots with names Harry doesn’t recognise. Realising that they are probably being unfairly scolded by Malfoy, he starts making his way over to the Hospital Wing. His footsteps echo loudly off the stone walls, but he doesn’t care. As he rounds a small corner, he sees a shock of white-blond hair and dark, swirling robes. Malfoy. Harry jogs up to the other man and comes to a halt next to him. Malfoy only pauses in his disapproving lecture to the two young boys—possibly in Third or Fourth Year—for a split second to smirk at Harry, before docking house points and sending the boys to bed. Harry stares uselessly after the retreating boys in bewilderment. Neither of them look remotely upset or threatened. Apparently Malfoy was _nice_ to them. 

“I see you’ve finally arrived, Potter.” Malfoy draws the short sentence out impossibly long, his nose tilted into the air. “Make it a habit to be late?”

“Oh stop it Malfoy,” Harry quips. He’s used to the false bravado the man opposite him normally puts on, and it no longer affects him. Well, not as much as it used to. Harry thinks. 

“Stop what?” Malfoy asks in a sickenly sweet voice. 

Harry emits a dark laugh and rolls his eyes. Malfoy drops his head to a normal level and starts to walk in the direction of the Astronomy Tower. When Harry doesn’t follow, Malfoy beckons impatiently for him to follow. Sighing, Harry speeds along after him. At least there is one bonus to being paired up a lot together. They no longer need many words to communicate. Not that that means anything, they aren’t _friends_ or anything ridiculous, just two enemies who have been forced into close proximity for a couple of months. Ok, so maybe Harry doesn’t _hate_ Malfoy anymore, but he definitely doesn’t like him. And just because he’s realised that, doesn’t make him think any higher of the blond man.

As Harry catches up to Malfoy, they fall into step swiftly and follow an invisible route through the castle. By the time they’ve reached the Fourth Floor, Harry is tired and irritable. There have been no students roaming the halls since he found Malfoy, making for a dull patrol. He would much rather be curled up in bed. Mind you, he wouldn’t have been asleep _anyway,_ he probably would have been sitting in front of the fire pouring over a boring text book about a subject he doesn’t care about. Still, it would be preferable to walking through the cold halls in silence with only Malfoy for company. Suppressing a shiver, Harry wordlessly casts a warming charm over his skin. He shudders as the delicious warmth encompasses him. Malfoy looks at him oddly, before a frown crosses his pointed features. He quickly tugs the frown into an odd shape that no one would understand. Except that Harry does. Rolling his eyes and scowling at him, he casts a second warming charm over the blond. 

As the hours creep by and the night projects darkness forward like a bullet or an Unforgivable, Harry finds himself occasionally bumping into Malfoy. It’s nothing, just a casual bump of shoulders as they both end up close to each other. It doesn’t mean anything, just that their bodies are trying to use the other one as a source of heat. That’s what Harry tells himself. He ignores the sparks shooting through him every time they come into contact, or the flutter in his stomach every time Malfoy looks at him. It’s nothing. Okay, maybe it’s something. Maybe, somewhere along the way, the lines became kind of blurred. Maybe the reason Harry no longer hates Malfoy is because he feels something entirely different towards his nemesis, but he doesn’t want to think of the implications of that fact. He’s known he’s bisexual for many years by now, but Malfoy? No. That can’t ever become anything for so many reasons. Hence why Harry is desperately trying to be as rude to him as possible in his own head. 

Finding themselves on the Seventh Floor, Harry comes to an abrupt halt. Something feels off in the atmosphere. After all the time he spent on the run, he can easily determine when someone else is present. That isn’t what he feels now. Not at all. Instead, the castle’s magic feels wrong. Almost like a secret passage has been opened. But what’s up here? Oh. Of course. The Room off Requirement. He feels stupid for not realising it earlier, but there’s an extra door to his left than usual. Ignoring the embarrassment tugging at his gut at his obliviousness, he points the entrance out to Malfoy with a silent gesture. 

“Do you think we should look in?” Malfoy asks, for once without the pretences usually layering his words. He knows what the door means as well, having busted Harry during the DA meetings in Fifth Year. And, of course, everything else later on that’s never discussed. 

“I think so,” Harry decides. Drawing his wand and taking a defensive stance just in case, he fires off a string of spells to quieten the small door’s hinges, then to make it lighter, and finally to unlock it. 

Malfoy pushes Harry out of the way roughly, making it a point to shove his elbow against Harry’s. He stalks right up to the door, twists the handle, and then prods it open with his wand. Harry watches as the door resizes and becomes bigger, and follows Malfoy into the doorway. The room beyond reshapes, but in the dark it’s impossible to see what’s happening around them. Malfoy is the first to cast a Lumos, and Harry hurriedly follows suit. Groaning as the room comes into view, he sees that it’s only a tiny broom cupboard. Well, he thinks miserably, that explains why Malfoy’s standing so bloody close to him. Harry wants to childishly push the blond man away, but there isn’t anywhere to push him _to._ Instead, he scrubs a hand over his face, nearly knocking his glasses to the ground, and starts searching for a door handle. 

You would expect that to be an easy task, really. Considering Harry had _just_ walked into a cupboard, the handle should be on the door behind him. Except the door behind him has closed up, leaving no exit. He feels his breaths quicken and his heartbeat spike. Harry is transported back to when he was ten years old and living in a cupboard. He remembers Dudley jumping on the stairs just to make dust fall from the ceiling. He remembers pounding on the small door, shouting on the other side loud and frightening. Suddenly becoming jumpy, Harry turns around and starts prodding the walls with his wand. There has to be a way out, he tells himself. And if there isn’t, you can just create one. You’re a wizard, he tells himself. And if you fail, Malfoy could probably do it better than you anyway. Except Malfoy doesn’t seem at all affected by the confined space, or the proximity to Harry, or the dust and cobwebs. If anything, he seems quite comfortable.

“Potter, calm down. Honestly, it’s fine,” Malfoy chides. But it isn’t fine, not to Harry. To Harry, it’s reliving a part of his life he wants to forget about. There’s no way Malfoy could know that though, is there? They aren’t exactly _friends._

“I need to get out of here,” Harry says desperately. 

Something seems to click in Malfoy’s mind, as he instantly freezes. “It’s true, then?” He asks.

“What’s true?” Harry nearly snaps in his mindless effort of escape. 

Malfoy doesn’t say anything, just nods to himself. “We will find a way out, Potter. It will be okay.” Harry hears something strange in his tone. Something… comforting, almost. Is it possible Malfoy does know after all? 

Harry rushes to turn around. Once he’s facing the wall he just walked through, he can see that it is completely sealed. There is no weak point in the wood. Harry’s heart drops from his chest. 

A small hand brushes against Harry’s back, so subtle that Harry thinks he’s imagined it. It’s only when that same hand rests firmly against his robes that he realises that it’s very real. Malfoy is trying to ease Harry’s discomfort. A small noise escapes his throat, and the hand hesitantly rubs up and down. Harry feels sick to his stomach, and focuses his attention on the point of contact in order to keep grounded. Slowly but surely his breathing slows down, and when he can no longer feel his heart thumping in his chest he turns back around. Malfoy is right in front of him. So close Harry can see each individual eyelash. How has he never noticed how pretty Malfoy’s eyes are? The way the grey catches the limited light from their wands creates a shining silver, little flakes within that look like sunshine through glass. Harry forces his mouth shut, pressing his lips into a thin line to stop himself from talking.

Malfoy’s hands—both hanging down by his side now—twitch, and it looks like he is stopping them from moving. Moving where? Harry wonders about the man in front of him. About how much he’s changed since the war. It no longer feels as stifling to be trapped in a cupboard with him; Malfoy wouldn’t hurt Harry. Harry opens his apparently-closed eyes and his breath catches. The walls around him seem to be much closer than they were earlier, and so is Malfoy. With only a hair’s breadth between them, Harry can see each and every pore on Malfoy’s nose. He can see the carefully disguised rings under his eyes, and if he allows his gaze to drop slightly, he can also see thin little lines around Malfoy’s permanently pursed lips. Except they aren’t pursed right now, not exactly. They are pressed tightly together, curled into each other like he’s preventing himself from speaking. 

“Potter?” Malfoy’s voice is calm but unsure, and when Harry wrenches his gaze from his lips he sees worried eyes. 

“Malfoy.” Harry doesn’t have an explanation, as simple as it would appear to be. Just say ‘I was looking for the differences’. But then he’d have to explain _why_ he was looking for differences, and differences from _what_? He doesn’t particularly want to tell Malfoy about his train of thought. 

When he focuses back in on the blond man, a coil of warmth flows through him and settles in his stomach. Malfoy is even closer now, their chests only a millimetre away. Once again, it would seem as if the walls have been pushed inwards. 

“Are you scared?” Malfoy asks in a whisper, gentle with a hint of something Harry can’t decipher. Doesn’t want to decipher. 

“Not at all,” comes his reply. Despite being locked in a confined space, with Malfoy of all people, he isn’t at all worried. 

Malfoy visibly swallows, pushing words down his throat. Harry does the same, unable to say anything in the silence around them. The walls push ever so slightly in once again, and Malfoy is forced against Harry. Their chests come into contact, and Harry’s heart skips a beat. The coil of warmth that had settled leaps again, up into his chest. Malfoy is now ridiculously close; closer than Harry has ever been to him. Malfoy tilts his head, looking right into Harry’s eyes. Harry’s palms are sweating slightly, warmed in the confined space. 

“Are you sure, Potter?” Malfoy asks, voice dry yet gentle.

Harry can’t find the will to speak, unwilling to risk breaking the moment. Instead, he just nods. Malfoy takes that as an answer and leans down slightly. Without another second to spare, Malfoy presses their lips together in a kiss.

Malfoy smells like citrus and some fancy cologne Harry has never heard of. His head is swimming with it, his eyes falling closed due to the assault on his senses. Malfoy’s lips are soft and warm, insistent yet patient. When Harry doesn’t move against him, he steps away. His eyes are panicked, but Harry is slowly crumbling in on himself. As Malfoy recognises his mistake, the walls of the cupboard stretch and there is an unmistakable _click_ behind Harry. Harry turns, grabs the door handle, and flees.

***

For the next three weeks, Malfoy avoids Harry. They aren’t paired up in any of their classes either, leaving Harry no excuse to talk to him. He regrets running. He’s realised since the incident that he feels exactly the same way. Harry’s never thought about Malfoy like that before—at least, he hasn’t acknowledged it—but now that he looks back, it’s really very obvious that _something_ was going on. When Malfoy kissed him, Harry even closed his eyes! He thought it was the amount that was happening in the moment, but maybe he just liked it? Hell, he did! Heaving a sigh as yet another class ends where he hasn’t heard Malfoy say a word, he slams his book closed and drops it into his bag. Hermione and Ron glance curiously at him. He hasn’t said anything to them about what happened, but he knows that they are suspicious. He can’t hide anything from them for long; especially not from Hermione.

“Hey, Harry?” Great, Harry thinks. That wasn’t long at all. 

“‘Mione?” Harry responds in a question.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asks, tilting her head in an innocent manner. She probably knows everything already, but Harry wants to hold on to the little secret. At least until he can’t anymore. 

“Perfectly great, ‘Mione,” he says. 

She narrows her eyes. “I’m not quite sure I believe that, Harry.” There’s a look on her face, a look that doesn’t bode well for Harry at all. Thankfully, Ron chooses this moment to join them, pressing a loud kiss to the side of Hermione’s head. Harry grimaces slightly, simultaneously wishing he had someone to do that with him and that the couple in front of him would get a room. 

Harry bids the two goodbye, and makes his way up to the Eighth Year common room with the excuse of wanting a shower. Not that he doesn’t want a shower persay, but that isn’t the whole reason. No. Harry wants to check on Malfoy. As he runs into his dorm and pulls out the Marauders’ Map he feels slightly guilty. The last thing he needs is for everyone to think he’s stalking the blond bugger again, like in Sixth Year. Yet that’s exactly what he’s doing. Heaving a sigh, he opens the map with the whispered command and scans the castle. When he finds ‘Draco Malfoy’ written in swirling writing and resting in the library, he is desperate to go and talk to him. To remove the barrier of no talking, and to kiss him back. Even if it’s three weeks late. 

As he watches—not stares, thank you very much—an idea starts to form in Harry’s mind. Nodding to himself as pictures of the scene float behind his eyes, he closes the map and places it carefully back into his trunk. He then grabs some clothes at random and heads down for a quick shower before dinner. The showers are deserted when he arrives, most of the Eighth Years choosing to either play a quick game of Quidditch, or study for their N.E.W.T.s in the library late into the night. Harry is thankful not for the first time that he isn’t taking very many. He showers hastily, contemplating his idea and planning it all out. By the time he is dressed again and heading down to dinner, he can’t stop grinning like an idiot.

Hermione fixes him with an odd look, and he knows there’s no way of avoiding a conversation. Or a telling off, really, no matter how many times she claims it’s not. Sighing, he forces his features into a neutral expression and chats with Ron about inconsequential things. The next Chudley Cannons game somehow comes up—despite Harry furtively trying to avoid it—and Ron grins as he explains to Harry just _why_ they have to win this match. Harry nods and smiles the whole way through. He loves Ron, he does, he just doesn’t want to hear about the doomed team and their chances of winning. Which in Harry’s opinion, are slimmer than the head of a needle. 

“Ron!” Hermione scolds her boyfriend. For what, Harry isn’t quite sure. Realising that he’s been zoned out for who-knows-how-long, he focuses back into the conversation. 

“It’s not my fault ‘Mione!” Ron is saying now. 

“It’s not your fault that you forgot about the Charms essay?” Hermione asks with a raised eyebrow that very clearly says she isn’t buying it. 

Harry stifles a laugh, and when Ron fixes his eyes on him shakes his head. “Sorry mate, but she’s right.” Harry tries to not let the chuckle through, but judging by the expression on Ron’s face he failed miserably. 

Admitting defeat, Ron sighs and buries his face in his hands. That only seems to alert him to the fact that he has food, and he starts eating with a vengeance. 

Hermione rolls her eyes at Harry from across the table, before starting her meal herself. Harry is left thinking about nothing and everything at once, staring into space quietly. 

“You alright, Harry?” Hermione asks, placing her fork down on the side of her plate. 

“Fine, just thinking about something.” Harry knows she won’t accept that response again, and rushes to get up before she can say anything else. “I just need to do something,” he tells her from over his shoulder as he walks away. 

His feet seem to carry him there by themselves. Realising that most of the people in the Great Hall are watching him, he thinks that he might as well start his plan now. Refreshed with new purpose, Harry strides confidently up to the dais where the professors are eating. He climbs up to the platform and charms his voice louder so he doesn’t have to yell.

“I have an announcement to make!” Harry says, his voice bouncing off the walls thanks to his Sonorous. If anyone wasn’t aware of what was happening, they definitely are now, Harry thinks. Unable to keep the grin off his face, he continues with his speech. 

“A few weeks ago, I made a terrible mistake,” he confesses. Headmistress McGonagall clears her throat behind him, but he doesn’t pay her any mind. He needs to say this. 

“Someone close to me made what they thought was a mistake of their own, but really the only problem was the way I reacted.” Harry fixes his gaze on Draco, sitting at the Slytherin table and growing steadily redder. 

“I cannot begin to express the way I felt after realising what I’d done. It appears I’ve finally learnt that my actions affect other people too.” That draws a nervous laugh from the students, and Harry smiles softly. 

Feeling brave was never something Harry was actually good at, despite the childhood he had. Most people think he’d bite the head off a problem first and then worry about the rest. And okay, maybe that is exactly what he’s doing right now. But maybe, maybe he’s also spent so long thinking about this, that now he just wants it over with, and this is the only way he knows how. Regardless, he’s doing it. 

Harry takes a second to compose himself, breathing in deeply, before jumping off the stage and walking towards the Slytherin table. Behind him, he hears McGonagall trying to gather attention back to her, but he can still feel everyone’s eyes on him, so it doesn’t matter. He walks ever closer to the table, stopping right before Draco. 

“Draco,” Harry says in a loud voice. The name sounds weird rolling off his tongue, but he figured it was the right choice. “I fucked up,” he says a little quieter.

“Did you?” Draco asks, hurt buried deep beneath his tone, as he turns around to face Harry. “Or did you make the right decision?”

“Of course I didn’t! I’m bollocks at decisions and always choose the wrong option,” Harry argues in a whisper.

Draco’s eyes widen slightly and he tips his head to the side. “Then what are you doing here? Surely, this is the wrong one once again.”

Harry shakes his head, determinedly not acting on the thought of strangling Draco right there. “Because I already made the wrong one, and this is the only one that’s left.”

“So I’m the leftovers? Gee thanks, Potter.”

“Draco,” Harry sighs. “I really like you, and I’m sorry for running.” He steps closer still, eyes locked onto Draco’s. 

Draco swallows hard, his hand twitching in his lap. “And what are you going to do about it?” He asks in a tease. “You like me, I thought I made myself pretty obvious when I-” Draco cuts himself off abruptly. 

“Yes. You did, didn’t you.” Harry takes a deep breath, trying to keep this conversation as private as possible while having everyone watch the exchange. “So why aren’t you now?”

Draco shakes his head, eyes falling to the ground. “I don’t want to like you, Harry.” Harry feels a thrill go through him at his first name coming from Draco’s mouth. “I don’t want to- yet here I am.”

“Merlin Draco, you can’t just say that!” Harry's head is spinning with the confession, and all thoughts and plans fly out the window. 

Gathering his courage, he puts a hand on Draco’s shoulder. When it isn’t shrugged off, he grips hard and pulls Draco up to stand. Draco gasps, a sharp intake of breath. Harry looks into his eyes, waiting for a flicker of regret or worry. When that doesn’t come, he acts. Harry reaches forward and presses their lips together. It’s soft, gentle, and delicious. He pulls one hand up to the back of Draco’s head, threading his fingers in the shiny hair. Draco is still for a moment, before moaning and kissing back like his life depends on it. Harry loses the rest of the world for that moment, caught up in the sense of kissing Draco. 

“Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy.” It rings out in the suddenly silent Great Hall, loud from the dais. Everyone’s eyes turn to the Headmistress, who is looking very firm but also quite pleased. “I do believe I have won this bet!” She calls out before turning to an extremely disgruntled Flitwick. The students break the quiet in an instant, cheering and whooping without a care. 

“Why is everyone so happy about this?” Harry murmurs to Draco, still pressed close to him. 

“Not everyone,” Draco replies. “They don’t look too pleased.” He gestures towards a cluster of people scowling. Harry squints, and sees money leaving their hands! 

“They bet on us!” He exclaims. “Draco, do you see this?!”

“Unfortunately, yes I do.” Draco frowns, biting his lower lip. 

“Enough of that,” Harry says when he notices. To get Draco to stop torturing the skin on his lip, Harry places his on top. Students cheer once again as Draco kisses him back, melting into it like it’s the meaning to his life. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments keep me writing. Thanks for reading Xx


End file.
